The Sadness Will Last Forever
by RandomRyu
Summary: Grantaire's vision was beyond double. His body swayed back and forth as if he was on a ship out at sea, physically trying his best to stay upwards and avoid toppling over face first into the musty carpet of his living room. His hands, smeared with yellow paint, trembled along with his shoulders as the drunken realization of what was happening crashed down on him.
1. Chapter 1

Before you start reading you should know that this opening scene is a suicide scene written in detail. The whole story overall will have themes of suicide and heavy emotional reactions. Be careful if you are easily triggered by these sorts of things in writing.

* * *

Grantaire's vision was beyond double. His body swayed back and forth as if he was on a ship out at sea, physically trying his best to stay upwards and avoid toppling over face first into the musty carpet of his living room. His hands, smeared with yellow paint, trembled along with his shoulders as the drunken realization of what was happening crashed down on him.

He was going to die.

Alone, surrounded by countless empty beer bottles in the middle of a shitty apartment with his stomach full of cheap alcohol, paint, and pills, he was going to die. He was going to pass on and no one was going to save him in time.

Everything hurt, his temples pounding with a sudden, intense headache. There was already a throbbing pain in his head before, but the realization of what was happening to him, his stupid mistakes leading up to these final moments of pure regret, made that pain a hundred times worse. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the ability to focus on anything specific gone and replaced with static and fleeting thoughts of his friends, his joke of a father, his dead mother-

Suddenly, his wild thoughts subsided as his gaze rested on a scrap of paper that was crumpled up and discarded near the side of the couch.

In a flurry of uncoordinated motion, Grantaire lurched in the direction of the paper to grope at it. After getting a hold on it, he stumbled on his knees to the coffee table on the side of the couch in search of a writing utensil. Thankfully, there was a pen resting on the surface of the small table. It would have to do, and he hoped that there was still ink left in it. If there wasn't, he didn't know what he would do.

When he smoothed out the torn and wrinkled paper and dragged the pen across the surface, he nearly sobbed with relief when a thin line of black ink appeared.

The faded red and blue lines on the paper wouldn't stay still no matter how hard Grantaire tried to focus his vision. He had to write something, anything before he dropped dead. This was going to hurt his friends in general, but leaving absolutely nothing behind, leaving no last words, would hurt them even more.

Grantaire's mind, once again a swirling storm of jumbled thoughts, struggled to come up with anything to say. He was running out of time, his grip on the pen weakening and his body sagging, leaning against the unsteady table for support. Ugly sobs pushed their way from his lungs, every heave feeling like a punch to the gut.

He started writing in shaky, rushed strokes of the pen, trying to make his handwriting even remotely legible.

It was only one sentence. One sentence written in uneven, large lettering across the top half of the paper. A bitter chuckle fell from Grantaire's lips. He felt sick. Sick and twisted.

But it didn't feel complete.

The light was starting to fade from the boy's eyes, and without thinking it through, he wrote.

One final word. He wrote one final word that was so dear to him, crossing it out each time he finished writing the last letter due to fear.

After writing and crossing it out at least four times, he left it be; doodling something tiny next to the last letter.

His grip on the pen weakened, dropping on the surface of the coffee table with a quiet thud that sounded like thunder to Grantaire's ears. Finally finished with the note, he folded it over once and proceeded to slump down to the floor once more; collapsing as his strength suddenly vanished.

With his senses filled with the acrid smell of the unwashed carpeting and the aftertaste of alcohol and paint on his tongue, he closed his eyes; drifting off into an everlasting sleep.

* * *

I've been writing this for a few weeks in a small notebook with a Victor Hugo quote on the front ("There is nothing like a dream to create the future."). I'm still working on it, and I'm not too far into it just yet. I have more written in the notebook, but I'm going to continue to hand write it (since I get more done that way, and I don't get on my laptop as much because I'm exhausted from school, so I don't have much time to work on fics). I work on it when I can; in study halls, or if I have free time in class.

The upcoming chapters will have to do with even more tragedy, finding out, and the aftermath.

The title is a Van Gogh quote.


	2. Chapter 2

"I haven't seen Grantaire in almost a week now." Courfeyrac's gaze was trained on the floor, the foot positioned to rest on his opposite knee moving jerkily up and down. "I'm worried about him."

"Has he texted you at all?" Cosette tilted her head subtly to the side. "I'm worried, too."

"I mean-" She shifted in her spot, her expression hardening. "I usually hear my father mention him now and then since he's been in the back of his car a few times for being drunk in public and whatever...Papa asks about him sometimes, too. I'm pretty sure he's concerned about him, too." She fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Have they asked about him? Did he get in trouble again?" Courfeyrac's tone was a mixture of apprehension and disappointment, especially on the second question.

"Surprisingly, he hasn't gotten into any trouble lately, or so I've heard as much. Papa asked how he was doing, and I…" Cosette shrugged. "I didn't know how to answer."

A beat of silence passed between them. Conversations continued around them at the other tables, the sound of blenders crushing ice and machines dispensing hot water filling the tense silence; the smell of coffee heavy, yet comforting, in the air. Their own cups of coffee, plastic lids removed, steamed on the wooden, low table in front of them.

"I was thinking of asking him if he wanted to tag along with us here, but I didn't want to bother him." One of Courfeyrac's hands reached forwards to rest loosely around the middle of his cup, the cardboard insulator keeping the heat from burning his hand. "You know how he needs some time alone sometimes. Just like everyone else. And with his painting and artwork and all- maybe he's working on something." He shrugged subtly and lifted the edge of the cup to his lips, blowing at the coffee in an attempt to cool it before he took a careful sip.

"Hm, now that I think about it, that's possible." Cosette exhaled a shaky sigh, running her fingers through her hair. The thought of Grantaire working hard on his paintings made her a little less tense. It wasn't totally out of the ordinary for him to go quiet for a while due to concentration solely fixed on his art. He would ignore phone calls and texts only to show up, sometime after those few quiet days or maybe even a week or more, at Cafe Musain; the bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual and his hair looking more akin to a bird's nest rather than human hair. He would look like an absolute wreck, but at least the others knew that he was okay. The first few times this happened, everyone nearly panicked. But after almost a year of random occurrences of such a thing, they were slowly learning to accept it.

"He'll be back in the cafe in a day or two. I hope so, at least." Courfeyrac now held his cup with both hands, taking small sips periodically.

"Honestly, I'm still getting used to it. The random...disappearances." Cosette let out a slow breath through her nose, her shoulders sagging. "I can't help but worry about him. he's just…" She paused, her expression screwing up for a moment as she raised her shoulders to her ears, only for them to sag again. "He has problems. I don't want him to get hurt."

She had to take a moment to relax, taking a few slow, deep breaths to calm herself. It seemed to work, because her shoulders were less tense and her eyebrows weren't as furrowed.

"Same here." Courfeyrac's voice was low, as if they were speaking about something secret between the both of them.

"For now, we just have to wait, I guess." Cosette picked up her coffee, lifting it to her lips.

"I guess so."

* * *

Two weeks had passed. Two weeks since the last time anyone has heard anything from Grantaire. No one asked for him outside of the friend group, no one seemed to care. Being a dropout, the teachers forgot about his existence and moved on quickly. Classmates sparsely gossiped about past events caused by the drunken teenager, but that was it.

With the death of his mother and abandonment by his father, other than the concern of his friends, he meant nothing. Along with being a type of outcast when he was still in school, it only made matters worse. In the majority's eyes, he was a mindless, reckless drunkard that was simply a fool. His peers disapproved of his behavior, merely shaking their heads and turning him into the police on the multiple occasions of him showing up intoxicated in school. They offered no help or kind words, only thought of him as a stupid kid that made the wrong decisions. Even if other classmates drank often and had the same behavior as Grantaire, they spoke with hateful words and judged the way he acted; knowing nothing of the deeply rooted self-loathing and the abuse that he has endured.

If he didn't have his group of friends to care for him, then nobody would have.

And nobody would find him.

But thanks to those friends' rising panic, he had to be found at some point. None of them wanted to jump to the terrible conclusion that they would find him dead and cold, still clinging on to the hope that he was just busy working on his art. None of them wanted to barge into his apartment, either. None of them has ever been to his apartment, no matter how long they've known him for or how close they only one who has even seen the inside of his apartment was Courfeyrac, but he never spoke of the state in which Grantaire lived in. And no one ever asked.

But someone had to go and check on him. And since none of them wanted to go due to fear, there was only one way they could turn to for help- the law.

* * *

"Dad?" Cosette's voice was soft, just barely tapping her knuckles to the bedroom door. Even if she was quiet, Javert couldn't help but be surprised at the sudden sound.

"Cosette? I thought you went to bed." Javert let out a breath, pulling on his uniform jacket.

"Can't sleep." Came her reply, guilt lacing her tone. "Hey, uh... can I ask you something before you go to work?"

Javert grabbed his work and personal phone, stuffing both of them into one of the jacket pockets before he responded.

"Of course." He whispered. "Go downstairs. Let me say goodnight to your Papa and I'll come down afterwards. Alright?"

Cosette responded with a curt nod and shut the door quietly, giving her fathers privacy before making her way down the stairs. She twirled her hair nervously around her fingers as she turned on the dimmer lights in the living room; settling down on the couch in front of the blank television. Her gaze rested on the reflective surface of the screen, faintly catching the light outline of herself curled up on the cushions; leaning on the arm of the couch as she hugged her legs with one arm and nervously nibbled at the nails of the other.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped her out of her thoughts.

Javert, with that usual stern expression on his face, sat down next to Cosette and sighted; his hands resting on his lap.

"What did you want to ask me?" He spoke quietly, breaking the stiff silence that settled over the room. He kept his eyes trained on Cosette in respect, but Cosette's gaze rested at a point on the floor, nervousness making her unable to meet her father's eye.

"Cosette?" Javert leaned in slightly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I...uh…" She blinked, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I've been really worried about one of my friends."

"Which one?"

"Grantaire." She exhaled slowly through her nose. "Nobody has seen him for two weeks. A-And we've texted him and called him almost every day the past week, but he hasn't responded."

"Hm...now that I think about it, I haven't seen him around lately. He hasn't been causing any trouble." Javert chuckled dryly.

"Yeah…" Cosette nodded, a sad smile on her features. "Can you maybe go and...check on him? At his apartment? Me or another one of my friends was thinking of going over, but...we're nervous. We think something is wrong." Her voice shook, her hand coming back up to her mouth so she could bite at her nails.

Javert thought over the request for a few moments.

"I can do that." Javert nodded his expression one of mutual understanding. Something akin to fear flashed in the man's usually stoic eyes, but went unnoticed by Cosette as she wrapped her arms around her father's shoulders, hugging him gently. He let out a long breath through his nose, placing one of his large hands on her back; rubbing the middle of her back in soothing circles.

After a moment, she pulled away and carefully wiped at her eyes.

"Thank you so much, Dad." Cosette sniffled, a grateful smile appearing on her features. Javert mirrored the smile, their gaze meeting for the first time since they began the conversation. A wordless bond formed between them on the rare occasions that they sat down and spoke to each other like this. With Valjean, kindness and warmth came to him so easily. Javert, on the other hand, was a cold, troubled man. Kindness and Javert never mixed together well, especially when he tried to be kind to himself. But having a relationship with Valjean and adopting Cosette along the way, the love, the familial bond that the three had built up over the years, from raising her from a child to a young adult, had changed something in the cold man. It wasn't obvious, but it was internal. He was uncomfortable speaking of it aloud. Still a bitter man that could easily overpower a situation and put everyone in line with a flick of his wrist, he now had a sliver of warmth within his heart.

"It's no problem." He pat her on the back before pulling his hand away and standing up. "I have to go now. Wouldn't want to check in too late for my shift." He straightened out his jacket and stretched his neck.

Cosette nodded in understanding, standing up herself.

She walked with him to the front door, giving him another brief hug as she said goodbye.

"Try to get some sleep, alright?"

"I'll do my best."

"Good."

And with that, Javert left the house; Cosette locking the door behind to save him the task.

As she shut off the lights downstairs and made her way up to her room, there was a lingering sense of dread that hung in the air.


End file.
